rlina stopped, but didn’t turn.
Her shoulders stiffened, like she was trying to hold herself together. The sharp halt in her steps was enough to make Phoebe falter too.
"No, not now," rlina said, her voice clipped. "I have sothing I need to do inside."
Craig took a step forward before he could stop himself. "It’ll only take a second."
He watched rlina. Her arms were tense, and her fingers shook a little, like she was holding sothing in. The wind blew a piece of hair across her face, and sothing about the way she didn’t move to tuck it away made him ache.
Phoebe glanced between them. Her eyes narrowed slightly—reading the tension, recognizing it. She looked like she wanted to stay, but knew better.
"I’ll be inside," she said, her voice light but asured. She gave rlina a small look, sowhere between a warning and a quiet nudge, then turned and walked away.
And just like that, the space between him and rlina thickened with silence.
Craig’s throat tightened. His palms felt damp. He wanted to speak, to fix sothing, but he didn’t know where to start—or if it even mattered anymore.
rlina finally turned to face him. Slowly. Like she was dragging herself into a mont she didn’t want to be part of.
She looked tired—not on the outside, but deep down. Like last night had left a mark she was too proud to admit.
And still, she was beautiful.
Not just in the effortless, pretty-girl way—she was the kind of beautiful that made him wish she were his, so he’d never have to let go.
Even her quiet, tired energy made him want to hold her. Wrap her in his arms, pull her close, and tell her the truth, that she wasn’t just important, she was the one he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Her eyes t his, cool and unreadable. "What?" she said. "What do you want?"
Craig hesitated. His pulse thudded in his ears. She wasn’t giving him anything—not even the anger he knew he deserved. Just... indifference. Cold, polished indifference. Like last night hadn’t left a bruise on both of them.
He swallowed hard. "Did you know my brother’s back in school?"
She gave a small shrug. "Yeah. Louis told ."
His chest tightened. That wasn’t the answer he wanted—he wasn’t even sure what answer he wanted.
"Did you speak to him last night?"
rlina tilted her head, her arms now folded tightly across her chest. Defensive. Closed off. "No. Um... why are you asking all these questions?" Her voice faltered slightly. She cleared her throat and looked away for a second. "Why don’t you just ask your brother?"
He exhaled slowly. "I would’ve. But like I said, we’re not really on speaking terms at the mont."
She didn’t say anything.
Her silence burned.
"Okay," she said flatly.
"That’s it?" he asked, blinking. "Okay?"
"What do you want to say?"
Craig’s jaw clenched. "You’ve been looking for Conor since you got here. Now he’s finally back and that’s all you have to say?"
She didn’t even blink. Just stared at him with that sa empty calm that sohow cut deeper than yelling ever could.
"What do you plan to do?" he pressed.
"I don’t have any reason to discuss my plans with you, Craig," she said, her tone like ice. "This is not about you. It’s never been." She turned to walk away.
Panic kicked in. His heart leapt into his throat.
"rlina," he said quickly, stepping toward her. "If this is about last night—"
She froze.
That was enough to keep her there.
"I didn’t an to lash out," he continued, the words coming out strained. His eyes dropped to the ground. "I was... I was having a bad day."
It sounded weak even to him. Not an apology. Not even close. But it was all he had.
rlina turned slowly, and for a mont, he thought maybe—maybe—she’d soften. That she’d see how hard it was for him to say even that much.
But her eyes were colder than before.
"You don’t need to explain yourself to , Craig." Her voice was quiet, but firm. Cutting. "I know exactly who you are."
That one line stung more than he expected.
She walked away without looking back.
Craig stood frozen, swallowed by everything he hadn’t said, her words replaying in his head like a door slamd in his face.
rlina walked away with quick, sharp steps, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. She didn’t look back.
She wouldn’t.
Not this ti.
That wasn’t an apology. Not really. It was barely an explanation. But the way he said it—the way his voice faltered, like he hated himself for what he’d done, got under her skin more than she wanted to admit.
And she hated that. Hated how a small part of her still wanted to turn around, to ask him why it always felt like he was on the verge of being real with her, but never quite got there.
But she was done. Done with Craig Lesnar and his whiplash emotions. One second soft, the next freezing cold. She was tired of holding out hope he’d be different—tired of letting him get close just to burn her.
Everything about him was a mistake—her feelings, her attraction, all of it. It never should’ve happened. Even if he wasn’t a Lesnar, he was still hot and cold, rude, arrogant, and completely self-absorbed. The kind of guy she should’ve stayed far away from. And on top of that, he had a girlfriend. A serious one. What was she even thinking?
By the ti she got back to her dorm, her legs felt like lead. Phoebe and gan were sprawled on her bed, mid-gossip, but both of them sat up the second they saw her face.
"Okay, spill," Phoebe said, raising her brows as soon as the door clicked shut. "What did Craig want?"
rlina kicked off her shoes and dropped onto her bed with a sigh. "He just wanted to know if I spoke to Conor."
Phoebe frowned. "That’s it?"
"That’s it."
Silence filled the room for a beat, but rlina didn’t offer more.
"Say whatever you want about Craig Lesnar," gan said, flopping onto her side, "but the guy really cares about his brother."
"He’s so family-oriented," Phoebe chid in. "Loyal, too. I an, yeah, he’s cold and kind of inaccessible, but when it cos to the people he loves? He’s all in."
rlina sat up slowly, her jaw tightening.
It was always the sa with them—like they forgot. Like they chose to forget. She was the one grieving, the one carrying around questions that never got answered, the one who lost her mother. And here they were, romanticizing Craig Lesnar like he was so misunderstood prince.
Her stomach turned.
Sotis it felt like her mother’s death had beco just another detail in the Craig Lesnar storyline, not a wound she still lived with every day.
She slipped her shoes back on without a word.
"Wait, where are you going?" gan asked, propping herself up.
"I’m going to talk to Conor Lesnar, and finally get the answers I need."
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